


On Reputation Only

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, Fix-It, Flirting, Improbable Flirting, Mildly Dubious Consent, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: Years before meeting John and Sherlock, Mary meets a mystery woman while working on a job for Moriarty.(More detailed description in notes at the end contains mild spoilers for S4. The story itself includes a character whose existence is a spoiler for S4E2 but nothing in this story is taken from the actual show canon about that character.)





	

 “Is that a Glock 26 in your thigh holster, or are you just pleased to meet me?”  

Moriarty laughs first, but then Mary's used to his sense of humor. The new woman doesn’t react to her question, face blank in contrast with the frivolity of her clothing. Thigh high stockings, a cocktail dress that would hide her pistol to anyone who’s _not_  a freelance assassin trained to look for such things, glittery pins in her curly updo—her shoes are flashy, but a low enough heel not to get in the way of a fight.  

“Your target is a Danish businessman with more money than sense. Unfortunately, there’s no better opportunity to target him, and the event will be crowded. At the same time, Mr. Moriarty and I will be occupied with missions of our own. Any information about these missions will be offered on a need-to-know basis.” The woman is turned away from Mary as she says this, peeking between the curtains of the hotel window that overlook a large lobby. Caterers and hotel staff are setting up for an impressive invite-only soirée, but Mary’s more interested in the photos Moriarty spreads out on the table for her. 

“And yet here I am, meeting you.” She glances up to meet Jim’s eyes—he smirks and mouths “good girl” before turning his attention to his phone screen. This is the fourth job Mary's done for him, the third on her own after she’d gone off the brief and saved his life once, and he pays well. He doesn’t sexually harass her or quibble over details. He doesn’t usually meet her in person, though, and she’s surprised that she’s been allowed to see his face. She wonders if that puts an expiration date on her own life, or if it just means a growing trust between them. The tall silent Irishman in the corner, after all, has been a consistent presence throughout the jobs, always somewhere. Moriarty obviously has _some_  people in his retinue that he can trust.

“Here you are,” the woman at the window purrs after a long pause. Mary watches her back, then studies the photos carefully when it’s evident she’s not going to turn around. “I might have a use for you.” The woman’s tone is chilling, but not in an affected way and with none of Moriarty’s drama. It’s mostly instinct that has a shiver crawling up Mary’s spine, and she’s grateful when they clear the room and leave her to her work. 

Assassination is at least eighty-five percent a waiting game. It’s not all she does, of course—there are more nuanced tools in her skill set. But she’s the best shot on her team, and a kill shot with a quick getaway is valuable in her world, whether the buyer is Jim Moriarty or the British government. Everyone loves plausible deniability.

It’s six hours of watching, waiting, with the sniper rifle set up at the window and her bag ready for a quick exit. The window is cracked open, the curtain closed. It might be a little suspicious, but intelligence suggests the target isn’t paranoid, so she can get away with it. This mysterious female associate of Moriarty’s, in fact, picked the vantage point. Mary would’ve found something neater, but she’ll make do with two holes in the curtain—one to watch the party, one for the rifle itself when it’s time. There are plenty of important people at this party, Moriarty himself included, but only a few Mary recognizes, from the criminal and corporate worlds respectively. She tells Moriarty when she has a shot, and each time there’s a pause, then he tells her to stand down. When the line of sight is particularly _bad_ , she takes the opportunities to stretch her body, regain her focus. It’s in one of these pauses when the room’s door clicks open, and her pistol is aimed with the safety off before she’s even registered the movement.

“Ah, ah,” the woman from before laughs, holding her hands up playfully as she slips inside. Mary frowns.

“Warn me next time, damnit.” She’s a little edgy, having her routine interrupted, but the woman just grins. 

“How did you become a sniper?” she asks. Her accent is crisp and British, public school-educated. Mary cocks her head to the side. 

“I like shooting things,” she quips, then checks the curtain again. The target’s still obscured by a wide column, chatting with a group of people. Also, Moriarty’s too close.

“You like shooting _people_ ,” the woman counters, her tone much more teasing than its earlier blankness. “He likes you. Says you’re efficient.” 

“Yeah? Well… my reputation proceeds me.” Mary’s smile is polite, but not particularly warm. She’s never been much of an extrovert. The woman steps closer, into her personal space. It’s probably a test, so Mary doesn’t shift. Still, she holds the handgun at her side. 

“I don’t have a reputation. Is it nice?”  

“If you work by word of mouth, I suppose. Look, I’ve got to get back to it — what did you want?” 

The woman smiles, leans in, and pulls at Mary’s earlobe with her teeth. Her bite is sharp. Mary masks any reaction, and checks the tension in her gun hand. “I want to watch you,” she purrs in Mary’s ear. “Jim’s a good partner in crime, but we don’t share the same idea of…fun.”  

Mary keeps her body relaxed, steps back when the woman lets her and turns to the window again, sitting on the floor by her rifle on its stand. “Is this part of the deal?” she asks casually. “I assume he introduced you for a reason.” 

“Will you still get your money if you don’t fuck me, do you mean?” The ‘ck’ sound is crisply enunciated, and the woman slips easily down at Mary’s side. “Don’t worry. No strings attached. I realize you’ll have to run when he gives the order.” 

“Yeah, and you probably don’t want to be in this room when he does,” Mary points out, again visually scanning the floor below. “I have a shot,” she says into her earpiece, and on the other end Moriarty again tells her no.  

“I have my own way out. I just want to see how much I can amuse myself in the time being.” Her hand finds Mary’s inner thigh, restricted only by the black leggings that give her optimum freedom of movement. Mary keeps her expression neutral, tracking the party guests and how each group has rearranged itself. 

“Are you asking or telling?” It wouldn’t be the first time for either, though normally it’s men making assumptions with her. She’s shut a few of them up, permanently—others she’s accepted as a necessary evil of her chosen career, or used to her own ends. She doesn’t think she _wants_  to have sex with this woman, but she’s not entirely opposed, either. 

The woman laughs, warm breath ghosting over her neck. “I’m suggesting. Honestly, I’ve deduced the lives of every single person at the party downstairs, done what I came here to do… now I’m just bored. Does it bother you?” Her hand slips under Mary’s tactical vest, under her shirt, feeling the skin at the small of her back. 

“A little,” Mary answers honestly. “Mostly I don’t want you to mess with my aim.”

“No, of course not,” the woman agrees. She continues to pet at Mary’s skin, inhales near her armpit like she’s smelling her, but doesn’t make more intimate motions. “I so rarely _want_  to do this kind of thing,” she admits. “But controlled violence is something of a turn on.” 

At that, Mary allows herself a small smile. “You don’t know me. How do you know that I’m in control?” 

“Oh, that? I can feel that.” She licks a stripe up the side of Mary’s neck and then bites down, fierce enough that it might leave a mark. Mary’s hands curl into fists but she doesn’t flinch. “You see?" 

“I see that you probably need to find yourself a girlfriend,” Mary suggests, and the woman laughs again. 

“Cheeky. Jim could have your head for that kind of talk.”

“Probably,” Mary agrees. “Are you planning to tell him?”

“Mm. No.” She bends to Mary’s neck again, this time kissing in a more exploratory fashion, with just a scrape of teeth. She follows the line of muscle to the back of Mary’s neck, and she checks the sight on her rifle.  

“Harder,” Mary demands, tone sharp, and then a moment later activates her microphone. “I have a shot,” she declares, voice perfectly even, as the woman’s teeth dig into skin and muscle again and her blood throbs with the pain. 

“Take it,” the boss murmurs, and she follows the order without hesitation, her breathing even to squeeze the trigger at the bottom of the exhale. The recoil knocks the other woman back, and Mary doesn’t apologize, moving from her position as soon as the headshot’s confirmed and disassembling her rifle. She’s tossing it into the bag as she leaves the room, readying the pistol she’d tucked back into its holster, and she doesn’t spare a thought for Moriarty’s mystery associate until she’s safely out of the country and checking the wire transfer to her banking account. But she does spare a few thoughts, later, and is surprised never to see her again. Later, perhaps a few distinctive ticks of a famous consulting detective spark something of a recognition in Mary’s memory, but by then she’s long buried the specifics, and that job doesn’t stand out much more than any other job. When John Watson makes a promise—and Sherlock, later, a similar one by implication—her secrets gain final currency as her own. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am handwaving the fuck out of S4. So this is NOT intended to be the Eurus we met in E3, and is basically fix-it fic for the show's horrific (and escalating) treatment of female characters. This is more what I hoped Eurus would be after seeing E2, and takes place entirely pre-show.


End file.
